


anhedonia

by mfdunklaus



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Angst maybe...?, Blowjobs, Cigarettes, Drugs, Gun Violence, M/M, MENTIONS OF RAPE COZ SENSITIVE TOPIC, NSFW, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Out of Character, Read at Your Own Risk, Sexual Content, Slurs, Smoking, Violence, i will be growing myself in holy water, nicotine, sorry mom ily, there’s so much sin how do i even tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mfdunklaus/pseuds/mfdunklaus
Summary: anhedonia/ˌanhɪˈdəʊnɪə/nouninability to feel pleasure in normally pleasurable activities.
Relationships: Duncan Quagmire & Isadora Quagmire & Quigley Quagmire, Klaus Baudelaire & Sunny Baudelaire & Violet Baudelaire, Klaus Baudelaire/Duncan Quagmire, Violet Baudelaire/Quigley Quagmire, and some Quigley Quagmire/Violet Baudelaire on the side
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	anhedonia

**Author's Note:**

> This is a criminal AU, also Duncan has been separated from Quigley and Isadora when born. Amen.
> 
> And look out for some easter eggs ! 
> 
> M<3

anhedonia  
/ˌanhɪˈdəʊnɪə/

noun

inability to feel pleasure in normally pleasurable activities.

The rough road wriggles under the wheels of an old pickup truck, bouncing gravel into the glass. There’s only the night and the quiet radio ahead. The wind blows through the half-open window, flicking the ash from the smoldering cigarette and scattering it all over the seats. Hands in black leather gloves hold the steering wheel firmly, barely noticeably swaying it from side to side. A sign glinting in the headlights with peeling paint indicates that the nearest city is two hundred and fifty kilometers away. The mans foot sinks the gas pedal to the floor, and the arrow on the speedometer jumps to one hundred and fifty. The cigarette flies out of the window landing far behind. 

The mans free hand is fumbling in the seat next to him, searching for a beer can. The opening click is accompanied by the sizzling of the foam and it covers his fingers with coolness. He takes a couple of sips and voices out a satisfied long-drawn "Ah".

Klaus wipes his lips with the sleeve of his sweatshirt and puts the can in a place that is free of all the junk. 

Another night at the wheel brings nothing but a headache and the desire to fall asleep right here, without fear of flying into a ditch. His hand goes back to the seat and pulls a cigarette out of the half-empty pack. Holding the filter between his teeth, Klaus flicks the lighter a couple of times, and a barely noticeable flame bursts, lighting up the cigarette. The first (or the hundredth of the day) drag spreads the nicotine smoke through the lungs. Klaus exhales through his nose. Smoke stings his eyes. He takes another sip of beer.

At the other end of the endless road, a reddish glow spreads out in dim spots.

Dawn is coming.

***

The gas station cafe looks disgusting even in Klaus’ eyes. Coffee is frankly shitty, burning the throat and nose with its strong smell, depriving not only the desire to sleep, but to live in general. 

Scrambled eggs and toast don't taste good, either, but an empty stomach is happy to accept at least some food. Klaus impales an underdone egg on a fork, and it plops back onto the plate with a distinctive sound. Well, the level of hospitality fully corresponds to the level of the cafe, and the level of the waitress, too.

Everything here was musty, cheap, and probably even the workers were covered with mold like this peeling wallpaper with faded green stripes. The old countertops are riddled with stupid graffiti and painted like a fucking garage. Klaus takes another look at all this shit and realizes that life has not brought him to such places for a long time.

Despite the fact that the needs were pressing, Klaus was afraid to use the local toilet. Of course, he's not clean either, but it's not a good idea to stink yourself and the car with shit.

The waitress was circling around his table, pouring this shitty coffee into his cup over and over again, she was shooting eyes at Klaus and seemed to be all over him. A great start to the day. If the remaining time passes the same way, Klaus does not mind putting a bullet in his chest now to save himself from this torture. 

The gas station worker signaled through the broken blinds that the car was ready. Klaus puts cold toast in between his teeth to eat it later and leaves a couple of bills on the table. He falls out of the unpleasantness of the cafe, skipping to the truck. He was doing so just because I wanted to take a wee. 

The half-chewed toast is still hanging in his mouth when Klaus notices a figure near his pickup truck. A short, thin guy with brown and messy hair, wearing a baggy hoodie and shorts that are too short for this weather, he’s looking around for someone with his eyes. A dark blue backpack hung behind him. There was something really familiar in his face but Klaus couldn’t put a finger on it. 

The kid doesn't look like a car thief. More like a junkie. But a junkie looking for a fix is sometimes more dangerous than any maniac.

“If you're planning to steal it, I hate to break it to you,” Klaus leaned on the the pickup, chewing toast.

“I don't know how to drive,” The guy looks lazily at Klaus as he approaches. There is nothing in the big eyes but a ton of exhaustion. Klaus decides that the guy is definitely a drug addict.

“Then what are you doing here?" Klaus doesn't really want any more problems. It wasn't a good day to spoil with a bunch of junkies. Not that he cared much about this guy, but he didn't want to get into a fight early in the morning. He just really wanted to piss.

“You're going to town, aren't you? Can you give me a ride?" the guy asked dryly. 

“Are you doing any drugs?"

“No, is that so important to drive with you?"

"I'm trying to make my trip safe." In Klaus’ experience, you'll meet a lot of people at these old gas stations. 

The Baudelaire looks at the boy again. He doesn't seem dangerous. Klaus doesn't care much about his life, but he would like to see a few people today.

“Get in,” Klaus nods in the direction of the pickup and walks over to the door.

The truck gives a painful screech, and then begins to roar worse than anything. Klaus starts to move. Gravel crunches under the wheels. As they go out on the highway, the Baudelaire slams the gas, squeezing the already thin rubber into the fucked-up road. Taking his hands off the steering wheel, he quickly puts on his gloves, lights a cigarette and turns on the radio. It hits the speakers with a soft hiss, and then fills the cabin with an uncomplicated pop tune.

"Can I have a cigarette?" The voice is low and lifeless. Klaus, without thinking, throws the pack on his lap.

“There are matches in the glove compartment,” The Baudelaire chews on the filter of a lit cigarette, “What's your name?"

“Duncan,” The guy's fingers are noticeably trembling, so much so that he doesn’t light a match the first time. The lit cigarette hangs in his mouth.  
Duncan turns to the window and looks out at the flickering autumn fields.

"What are you doing out in the middle of nowhere, Duncan?" Klaus grins. This guy was so out of place in a musty diner that he wouldn't be surprised if Duncan turned out to be a ghost or some other mystical shit.

"Ran away from home. I'm hitchhiking,” Duncan exhales smoke through the window that Klaus had kindly opened. The thin fingers are still trembling.

"Did your parents get you? I understand. I'm like that myself,”

“I don’t have any parents.”

“Okay then.” 

Klaus pulls over with a screech from the tiers. Duncan flinches and almost drops the cigarette from his hand. 

“Dude, I'm going to take a leak, don't be so nervous,” Klaus slams the heavy door of the pickup and goes behind the car. Duncan can see his reflection in the side mirror.

The Baudelaire is relieved. His day is gradually getting better.

The car is silent again. Klaus looks out of the corner of his eye at the quiet Duncan. The guy kicked off his dusty sneakers and tucked his feet under him, sitting comfortably on the wide seat and playing with his red and old PSP. Does this guy know what city he's going to? Such quiet people are taken out of there in bundles of dead bodies every day.

The road twists and turns, changing to a smoother, well-paved one. A brand-new sign glows in the autumn sun, telling them that they are entering the town and asking them to slow down to sixty. Klaus presses the pedal to the floor with a grin, the arrow jumps up while Klaus is squeezing the entire hundred out of the pickup.

In this city, all the rules are ignored. 

“Where can I drop you off?" The houses with sprawling garden plots and red roofs begin to flash past the windows.

"I don't know. Somewhere in the center?” Duncan shrugs, not taking his eyes off the game.

“Do you even know what kind of city this is?” Klaus even finds it funny. He grins, snatching another cigarette from the pack with his teeth.

“No. Is it important?” Duncan reaches for the pack and takes it from Klaus’ lap.

“You know, if we went to any other city, I'd say no...” He stopped and then after receiving nothing but silence continued, “Alright, man, if you're hiding from someone, you can't find a better city. Just not the fact that you will ever be found. At least not alive.” 

“Well. It's even more interesting that way,” Duncan lifts his large eyes from the console and stares directly at the bridge of Klaus’ nose. 

The Baudelaire crooked a smile and looked at the boy in surprise. What kind of demons are in this guy's head, even the devil can't tell.

“If you say so,” Klaus shakes his head, still holding the unlit cigarette between his teeth.

The pickup truck screeches to a stop near a roadside bar with the uncomplicated name “Liar”. The sign does not have an abundance of colors or patterns, just a neat font with white thin letters on a black matte background. Klaus flicks off ash through the open window and looks at Duncan expectantly. The guy is so invested in the game that he doesn't even seem to notice that they've stopped.

“Well, we're near the center. There's a cheap but okay-ish Motel nearby, and a block away there’s a diner with delicious peach pie. I think you’ll be okay. For now, I have business to attend to.

“Okay. Thanks for the ride,” Duncan tightens the gray laces on her sneakers and slings his backpack over his shoulder.

Klaus nods and pulls the transmission. The pickup door slams shut, and he pushes on the gas, watching the blue backpack disappear in the side mirror.

The Baudelaire met many freaks, but Duncan among them somehow stood out in a special way.

***

It was a small house that rose above a perfect green lawn. Black frames against white brick looked minimalistic and gave a pleasant symmetry of shapes and borders.

Klaus entered the open door without knocking. The tiled floors were dark coffee crumbs under dusty black high-laced shoes. Klaus opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle with juice. After pouring a glass of fresh orange juice, the Baudelaire sat down on one of the high chairs and listened to the footsteps on the second floor.

She knows that Klaus is already here.

The stairs creaked a couple of times, and a sleepy Violet appeared in the doorway, not even having time to get out of her dressing gown. Her bare feet padded across the cold tile. Violet walked around the table and snatched the glass of juice from Klaus’ hand. The man curled a cheeky grin.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty." Klaus hooked a finger around the rim of the juice glass and slowly pulled it back toward him. A cool liquid touched his lips, filling his throat with a pleasant sourness and vitamin C, “You don't have to tell me how glad you are to see me. I can read everything in your eyes.”

Violet looked sleepily from the glossy tabletop to the grinning Klaus. Even the coal mines weren't as deep as her eyes.

The glass shatters on the coffee tile, spilling a bright orange stain across the floor.

During the second that the glass was in the air, Klaus manages to grab Violet by the elbow and pull her sharply towards him, but in an instant the black cold muzzle of her gun was pressed to his chin. 

If Violet fires a bullet, it will come straight out of the back of his head, making a hole in the skull with a diameter of twelve and seven millimeters. Klaus grins even wider, showing an even row of teeth with prominent fangs. He reaches closer, despite the fact that the muzzle of the gun rests directly on his Adam's apple. Violet pulls the gun up to Klaus’ chin.

“Do you want my brains to scatter all over your kitchen?" The man almost whispers. All he wanted to do is give his older sister a hug, but the womans heart is cold as ice.

"Klaus, please clean up after yourself,” Violets voice is completely calm, as if her hand is not warmed by the gun, and the black muzzle does not rest on her brothers chin.

The Baudelaire woman puts the gun back in the pocket of her robe, and Klaus wonders if it was even loaded. 

The man jumps down from his chair, and the glass creaks under his foot. Violet goes to the stove as if nothing has happened and puts the pan on it. The piece of butter melts slowly, spreading over the polished surface with a quiet hiss. After, the eggs, two slices of bacon and some cheese are sent to the pan. The lid is fogging up.

While his sister is spinning over the stove, Klaus is watching her closely. Every movement is careful and nothing extra. It is as if she’s not preparing Breakfast, but carefully working with a scalpel over an open chest.

A plate of fried eggs with a piece of bacon appears in front of Klaus’ nose. It smells delicious. His mouth fills with saliva, Klaus has eaten recently, but the smell makes his stomach growl softly. Violet sits down opposite him, pouring orange juice into two glasses. 

"It's been a long time since we had Breakfast together," Klaus says lazily, taking a knife and a fork.

“We didn't have dinner, either." There is a faint but distinct light in Violets eyes. The need for affection. Violet Baudelaire wants to be taken care of, just not by her annoying brother. 

“Then why did you resist?" A cheeky smile spreads on his face. Klaus squints his eyes at her. 

"I have things to do right now," Violet says phlegmatically, putting a piece of bacon in her mouth.

As if on cue, a loud trill of the bell rings through the house. Klaus throws a puzzled glance out the window. A black car with tinted windows and no license plates is parked next to his pickup.

“I see,” Klaus says, sadly sighing at the back of the leaving Violet. 

A familiar, serious voice comes from the corridor, and Klaus purses his lips in displeasure. 

Isadora comes into the kitchen with a large sports bag on her shoulder. She gives Klaus a slightly surprised look and sits down opposite him. Then the Baudelaires mind sparks, Duncan had the same features as Isadora! Same big eyes and puffy lips. Even though the guy looked way more sad, empty and unhealthy. 

“You're going to do some sports early in the morning, Isadora?" Klaus grins and continues to eat his second breakfast.

“I haven't seen you in town for a long time. Why did you come?” Isadoras eyes narrowed. The Baudelaires impudent grin was always infuriating, because it was too much like someone elses. But less snide and greedy.

"Just stopped by for a little. How's Miss I-know-everything doing?”

“She's been particularly annoying for the past few days, which means she's doing great,” Isadora chuckled and reached for the jug of juice, "Can I have a glass?"

Klaus pushes his empty glass towards her. The Quagmire isn’t particularly squeamish, so she fills someone else's glass and drinks it in two gulps.

“Did she know I was coming?"

“I don't know. At least she didn't say anything.”

"Isadora, let's go downstairs." Violet came into the kitchen, fully composed. "Klaus?"

“I'll see you tonight at the bar,” The man quickly put the dishes in the sink and left the house with a final wave of his hand.

***

His phone vibrated softly somewhere near the transmission. A familiar name glowed in black letters on the white screen. It's been a while since he called from his number.

"Good day, Quig! Where the hell are you?” Klaus skillfully turns the steering wheel, moving to the left of the main road. The pickup truck is parked outside a Motel with the idiotic name of Palm Trees. The sign is decorated with equally idiotic palm trees and glows faintly with neon in the light of day.

"Hey dude! God, there's so much shit happened, don’t know how to tell everything. Where are you? We should definitely meet up for a drink!” On the other end of the line, you can hear the roar of an engine and the familiar, ear-pounding roar of sirens.

“I hear you're having a good time there. I'm even jealous. I'm in town so come on, it's too boring without you.” 

"Got it, bro. Wait for us in the evening!” The phone signal is interrupted by loud beeps. Klaus puts the phone in his pocket and gets out of the pickup, slamming the door.

It's going to be an interesting evening.

***

Muted light gleams in the glass of full and half-empty bottles that line the wall. A tall figure looms behind the bar, serving drinks, knowing exactly who to serve and what to serve. The glossy surface reflects the upper lamps, revealing small streaks and scratches on the table top. Klaus shakes off the ashes in the ashtray lazily, sipping a cool Scotch. Nothing ever changes here. And this stability even warms the soul a little. Klaus draws some figures on the table tip with his finger, leaving thin traces on the gloss.

“You're quiet today, Klaus,” A second bartender appears behind the bar, several times lower than his fellow worker. He snaps his fingers, drawing the attention of the tall bartender, and points to a half-empty glass in Klaus’ hand. 

“I'm waiting, Larry,” Klaus grins, glancing at the puzzled bartender from under his lashes.  
"What are you waiting for?" Jaques expertly pulls the bottle out from under the bar. The amber liquid gives off a golden glow in the light of the lamps and splashes in the glass with a pleasant sound.  
“Who,” significantly corrects Klaus, taking the glass from the bar and putting it to his lips.  
“You will do me a very big favor if you don't destroy anything here,” Larry looks at Klaus seriously, and the Baudelaire nods confidently in response, “Thank you,” The bartender goes back to the staff room. He only went out to greet an old friend.

The door is kicked out of the way, and it slams into the wall, hitting the paint. Klaus’ lips stretch in a satisfied grin.

"Hey, Hey, Hey! You guys didn't expect me?” Quigley Quagmire noisily barges into the bar, where he is greeted by loud whistles, and someone even shouts his name.

“Get out of the way, you're not alone!" Carmelita Spats pushes Quigley forward into the bar. Her forearm is wrapped in a tight bandage with barely noticeable red streaks. Carmelita high fives Klaus and collapses on a nearby chair. “Jaques, give me some beer,”

"No, just look at it," Klaus says, still not turning around, “appeared in the bar a second ago, and already attracted everyone's attention. What an irritating character!” 

“Who's sitting at the bar with a sly fucking expression on their face? Oh, well will you look at that hair! Boy, have you heard that the comb has already been invented?” Quigley stands behind Klaus and grins broadly. The Baudelaire really forgot about taking care of his hair, his curls are pointing in every direction and falling onto his face. 

“But I don't pour a ton of gel on my hair in the morning!” Klaus turns around. In the eyes of equally splashing desire to kill and trap in a long embrace. A weird feeling like he has already seen Quigley today flashes through him. Klaus thinks that he also looks like Duncan, but he has strong arms and combed hair, “I haven't seen you in six months, Quig!” Klaus reaches out his hands to his friend, but in response, he is pulled around the neck and almost strangled with a strong hug.

"Man, I'm glad you're still alive." The Quagmire puts his hand in Klaus’ hair and messes it up even more, holding him in his arms, “Fuck, what we had today!”

"Hey, we made a deal that i’m telling the story!" Carmelita leans back in her chair and smiles. “I was shot! I'm telling the story!"

"Excuse me, can come through?" Behind Quigleys back, a calm voice sounds cold and sends shivers.. This cold shakes from the top of Quigleys head to his heels and cramps somewhere in his stomach. The Quagmire turns around.

Violet, without blinking, looks directly into his eyes, and they read absolute nothing. That look is as cold as the muzzle of a gun at your temple. Quigley swallows hard and takes a step back, letting go of Klaus. 

"A, I'm glad you came,” Klaus wraps his arm possessively around Violets shoulders and pulls her close. He had already noticed the light in Quigleys eyes, and he doesn’t want the scenario of ‘best friends dates older sister’ oh no he doesn’t, “Let's move to a table."

Carmleita enthusiastically tells how today her and Quigley on a car full of drugs, just like in "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas", ran away from the cops, how she was shot when he leaned out of the window to flip them off, and how Quigley was laughing like crazy and aiding her shot forearm. 

Quigley eyed every inch of Violets long neck and tightly closed lips. The woman rubs her fingers on the gun hidden under her jacket and barely restrains herself from letting it go out at the forehead of the annoying Quagmire. The fingers on the gun twitch slightly as Klaus’ hand passes over her back. She did miss her brothers comforting touch even though she wouldn’t say it out loud.

“And Quigley chickened out to fuck them off!” Carmleita laughed as she finished her story.

“Hey, I'm not a fucking pussy! I just don't like driving with one hand!” The Quagmire breaks away from devouring Violet with a glance and sends a displeased look directly at Carmelitas forehead.

“Lita, Quigley chickened out? Oh please! He'd rather let an alligator bite off his finger than get cold feet in front of someone!” Klaus laughed. 

"Did you hear that, dickhead? Tell me that again and I'll be transporting drugs in your corpse!”

"You kill me first, pussy!" Camrelita stuck out her tongue childishly.

Who would have thought that the most famous pair of drug dealers in the state were two childish 25 year olds with one braincell and a completely atrophied sense of self-control. But that's why they were the best. Moving drugs in a sports bag across two States? Piece of cake. Driving a red Jaguar filled with drugs at a hundred and fifty miles past a patrol is a common thing. Quigley has been in this business since high school, Carmelita not more than three years. But the Quagmire liked the girl for her insanity and optimism. Perhaps they were very similar in that part. They were almost like Bonnie and Clyde, except they didn't fuck. Although hell knows.

"Violet, what do you do?" Quigley does not stop, becoming more and more inflamed by the coldness of his new object of adoration.

“I sell,” coldly throws Violet, not even caring to look at Quigley. 

"Ice cream on the corner? I wouldn't be surprised if I found a couple of corpses in your refrigerator," Carmelita laughs, finishing off her fourth glass of beer.

“There's only frozen chicken in my refrigerator. I keep the corpses somewhere else" Violet remarks with a barely noticeable grin, running a thin finger along the edge of Klaus’ glass.

“So what do you sell?"

“Organs. And if you won’t leave me alone, Quigley Quagmire, I'll be thinking about your heart,” The gun warms her ribs harder, wanting to finally fly up and shoot the mans brains out.  
“Nah, I know who sells organs here. And these guys are unlikely to tolerate competition,” Quigley doesn't notice Violets annoyance, he’s too busy eyeing the womans neck. 

Klaus begins to boil. He promised Larry not to break anything here, but his fists are itching under the table, wanting to finally knock that seductive, ridiculous smile off Quigleys lips. As i have already mentioned, Klaus did not like the ‘best fried dates sister’ scenario, and Violet also seemed not to be fond of it. 

"Quig, let's go outside and have a word." Klaus pours the whiskey down his throat, crunches the thin ice between his teeth, and leaves the table.

"Yeah, man, just let me go to the bathroom." The Quagmire understands his friends intentions and falls out after him. A mocking "pss" comes after them.

Klaus goes outside and the fresh smell of autumn hits his head, mixed with rotting leaves by the road and the garbage stench from the alley. The Baudelaire lights a cigarette and breathes the nicotine into his lungs. 

Quigley gave him a good idea to take a leak. But going back to the toilet is fraught with consequences. He would punch Quigley right there if he came across his smug grin again. Yes, they were best friends, but no one said you can't beat your best friend.

Klaus turns into the alley and unzips his jeans. There’s some kind of fight on the other side of the road. Klaus looks closely. In the dim light of the flickering lantern, he sees familiar messy hair and the long thin legs. The guy was in trouble.

Klaus watches the scene for a few more seconds, zips up his jeans, and turns away. It's none of his business. Not his, right?

The Baudelaire clicks his tongue loudly and turns around to the full one hundred and eighty. He's the one who brought him to town. A tall weirdo is holding the kid by the hair, pulling it back so hard that it's about to peel off his scalp. His gray hair is wild and sticking out in different directions, he has a one long eyebrow and an insane gleam in the eye. Klaus does not like this guy.

"Count Olaf... please… I’ll work everything i skipped” Duncan almost whines as he tries to pull his hair out of Olafs grasp.

"Of course you'll work. Otherwise, you will break my heart, Duncan,” Olaf lets go of the boy's hair and he falls to the wet ground with a thump. “You don't want that, do you?" The question sounds harmless, but devils are dancing in this guys eyes. 

"No," Duncan whispers, rising from the crushed sidewalk. There are no tears or bitterness in his eyes. Only fatigue and despair.

“I came out here to kick some dicks ass, and now I think I'm going to have to kick your ass, too." Klaus leaned back against the cold wall of the bar, smoking a cigarette.

"Oh? Does this concern you in any way, kid?” In a dark alley with a flickering light, Olaf really looked like hell. Klaus tensed.

“Well, I kind of dropped this kid off here today, so I'm kind of responsible for him,” Klaus grimaced and scratched his neck. He wasn’t really sure how old Duncan was, he looked so weak and was so short that he could easily give him 16 or 19.

“So it was you who helped this whore get away? Then you'll get it, too,” The blade flashed in the dim light with a familiar gleam.

“Well, that's the bad way,” Klaus slowly lifts his back from the wall and takes a step forward. Eyes closely follow the "streetwalker" in the hands of the guy. A second's delay and the blade cuts through the skin of the cheek with almost surgical precision, leaving a thin red line. Klaus is ready to strike back, but a familiar click chills his back.

“Dude, you didn't wait for me? It is even insulting to my brotherly heart!” Klaus turns around. Behind him, Quigley, Carmelita, and Violet with the gun up in the air, pointing at the man who was holding Duncan. 

"Okay, I’m not stupid, I got the hint, I'm off,” Olaf sang in a low voice, retreating to the wall, “But this isn't our last meeting. Good day, little Duncan!” The Count turns to the corner, and only then Violet lowers the gun.

"So-o?" Quigley says, hoping for a full story.

The four of them look at Duncan, who is huddled in a corner. The completely unblinking gaze is burning holes Klaus’ forehead. In his big eyes, gratitude shines with a thin ray. Klaus sighs and tells the guy to follow them. Duncan doesn't move, but only seems to be pressing harder against the cold wall.

Violet puts the gun back and holds out her hand to Duncan. Quigley clicks his tongue irritably, Klaus grunts in response, and Carmelita seems to be the only one to point out a very weird detail. 

“Hey!” She exclaims pointing at Duncan, “You look just like Quigley but like... Ten years younger!” 

Duncan was shorter and thinner, he had spots under his eyes and pale skin, unlike Quigley, the man was tall and had a slight tan. He had strong arms and legs but the same facial features. 

“That’s... Weird,” He said walking over to Duncan, “What are you? Seventeen?” 

“I’m twenty five,” Duncan sighed, annoyance in his eyes overbearing the curiosity. 

“What?” Duncan wasn’t only older than Klaus thought but he was even older than him! 

“Yes, I am twenty five. Is that so hard to believe?” Duncan asked, still holding Violets hand. 

“I believe you,” The woman said coldly, “Now let’s go, it’s chilly out here and your legs are exposed too much,” She concluded and pulled Duncan after her into the bar. Quigley huffed and everyone followed them. 

It ends with more drinks and Klaus’ gaze fixed on Duncans legs. 

That night Klaus took Duncan to his room in the motel. 

In the morning they both got dressed and leave as if nothing happened, even though Klaus gets a glimpse of the terrible bruises and marks that were covering Duncans arms. 

The rain spits lazily into the windshield, knocking down road dust and streaking down the glass. The September sky pleases only the poor man with a deep depression, if he, of course, can be happy about something. Klaus, for example, is not happy about it. And he is not happy with a couple of other little things, but this is not very interesting to anyone.

Duncan is sitting in the passenger seat, his feet up on the glove compartment, and he is trying to catch a dream. Klaus doesn't know why he took this guy with him, but leaving him in the room was somehow... ugly? Probably. And if you would look at it from a different angle, Klaus did have manners. 

***

The road spits gravel and an endless stream of dust. Endless desert landscapes look like a film stuck in an old turntable. They haven't changed in five hours. Except that the roadside motels and gas stations were different, although it seemed to Duncan that they had twice passed a Motel with an idiotic cactus sign. From the radio, the voice of the host buzzes, pathetically broadcasting about some overly important event. But this is better than flawed pop, not distinguishable by either lyrics or melody. Duncan throws another glance at the dead PSP, if lost it’s battery two hours ago, and sighs heavily. He can only look at the desert.

A nearly empty pack of cigarettes lands on his lap. Duncan takes out a cigarette and lights it lazily. Klaus has been silent for three hours. And not that Duncan was against it, but the not changing landscape of the desert, the dead console and the unbearable music make him bored to death. But Klaus was silently looking at the road, lighting a cigarette every half hour. Who this guy is Duncan does not know to this day, as well as does not know why they left the room in a hurry in the morning and why he decided to take him with him. It didn't matter to Duncan where they were going or what their purpose was.

"Dunc, open the glove compartment and take out my wallet." the Quagmire is startled. With a cigarette between his teeth, Duncan skims the glove compartment and pulls out an old, battered wallet from a pile of junk. "Count the money." Klaus keeps his eyes on the road, flicking ash through the half-open window.

“Two hundred,” Duncan pulls the bills out of the wallet and shows them to Klaus. He shakes his head thoughtfully.

“Not much, we should stop by the casino,” Klaus sends the cigarette overboard and finally, Duncan is even willing to thank him for this, switches the radio channel.

“How the concepts of "not much" and "need to go to the casino"are related exactly? It always seemed to me that money was being spender in casinos,” Duncan throws the wallet back and takes a drag. 

“If you don’t know how to play,” Klaus grins, raising one eyebrow, “I know how,” he says smugly, giving Duncan a quick glance with his sly eyes.

“Will two hundred be enough for us?" Duncan adds ‘us’ hesitantly. Maybe this guy will drop him off in the middle of the desert and tell him to go wherever. 

"A hundred will do,” He won’t drop him off. Klaus switches the channel again, “Fuck, what the fuck is going on everywhere, why isn't there a cool station with cool music?”

"Did he just notice?" Duncan thinks. Maybe this whole time he had been sleeping with his eyes open. 

“Why don't you put the music on a flash drive? It's easier that way.”

Klaus slowly turns his head to Duncan and looks as if he has said one of the greatest stupidities on the planet.

"Imagine the situation," Klaus begins with a smirk and turns his head to the road again. “Cops are very unfriendly guys if you have annoyed them somewhere. So I'm running as fast as I can form them, and I get a car that I can steal. I break the window, get into the car through it, start the engine somehow, and hear a dog barking at my tail. I start off and then... Bang!” Klaus bangs his hands on the steering wheel, “I remember that I left my flash drive with music in the previous car. I fly straight at the dogs from the car, fight my way through a dozen cops with guns and run for my favorite flash drive. I jump into the pickup, turn on the music, and drive off into the sunset.”

“You could’ve just said you change cars a lot," Duncan turns to the window, pulling her sweatshirt closer around him. Driving in silence wasn't so bad after all. 

“Well that’s not interesting at all," Klaus chuckles, “You don't like funny stories, I see,” Duncan ignores the guy's comment and continues to watch the darkening horizon and the desolate plains.

By the time they entered a city, the streets were thick with twilight. The wet road glistened in the electric light of the streetlamps, diluting the perception and blurring the overall picture outside the window. This city was larger than the previous one, like the center of a state. Duncan hadn't been to big cities in a long time, not since he'd run away from Olaf. They were all alike, dotted with slender high-rises, neon signs, Bouncing ads, and lots of traffic lights. Even if Duncan was entering his hometown now, he would have recognized it only by the sign. 

Klaus seemed to have found a decent radio station and was shaking his head in time to some electronic beat. Duncan didn't even notice as he began to move smoothly with the music.

Klaus parked the car in front of a large building that had a screeching red neon sign with the word IN. Duncan swallowed hard, slowly clenching and unclenching his fists. No, he can recognize his hometown not only by the sign. ‘IN’ was also a very remarkable feature. Almost a year of hiding in small towns, only to return almost to Olafs clutches. 

Duncan feels that his heart is almost in his throat and that he is about to vomit it out. Unpleasant goosebumps run down his back. "Fuck," his brain screams, "fuck, fuck, fuck!"

“Dunc? Are you sick or something? Don't throw up in the car,” Klaus stretches his neck and back, crunches his vertebrae, and pulls off his sweatshirt.

“What are we doing here?" The words come out of his throat with a rasp. Duncan is overcome with panic. It would have been better if Klaus had dropped him off in the desert.

"We're here to play poker,” Klaus is searching for something in the backseat. 

Duncan sees an eye tattooed on Klaus's chest and a couple of scars, “You're coming with me."

“Why?" His voice is trembling, as is his entire body.

"You'll be my cover," Klaus says jokingly, returning to the seat. He throws on a plaid shirt over his shoulders and buttons it up. Duncan also notices a murder of crows tattooed on Klaus’ ribs, he catches himself on the though that they look pretty neat.

"From what?" Duncan doesn't want to go to the club. Although "doesn't want to" isn't the right word. The Quagmire would rather put a bullet in his chest than walk through the doors of that place.

"From curious eyes." Klaus sighs when he sees Duncans state. "Stop shivering, nothing will happen to you. Bring your toy and we'll charge it at the bar. You're making me sick with your sad eyes.”

Klaus gets out of the pickup and slams the door. Duncan falls out after him on wobbly legs. A line snaking up ahead, but they pass it. People stare at Duncan, but he only speed up his pace to keep up with the only way to get out of here in one piece. If Klaus still thinks so.

“Yo, dude!” Klaus gives the guard a high five and slaps him on the shoulder. 

The guard gives Duncan an unpleasant look “Are you with a new boy?" Duncan shudders, trying to pull the sweatshirt as low as possible. His gaze makes his entire body itch.

"It's a long story," Klaus says lazily, and grabs Duncans wrist. "Can we go?"

“Sure,” the guard opens the door for them, and Duncan sweats feverishly.

The music hits his y ears, making his chest jump and my legs vibrate. Eyes are confused by the number of colors smearing on the walls and people. Duncan feels Klaus’ strong grip on his wrist as they make their way through a forest of dancing bodies, sticky with sweat and drunk on drugs. 

The stale smell of a mixture of perfume and tobacco stings his nose. Duncan wants to smoke. And get the hell out of here, or even further away. Someone is pulling at the hood of his sweatshirt. Duncans legs are numb with fear. Klaus hits the guy who grabbed him on the arm and gestures for him to go fuck himself. The Quagmire clings to Klaus’ shirt like a lifeline. There are a lot of people at the bar, but Klaus quickly throws the crowd aside and pushes Duncan to the counter.

"Kit-Kat!” he tries to shout over the music, “Kit! Damn it!” 

The bartender gestures that she can see him, pouring rum and coke into the glass.  
Kit sends the glass rolling down the counter and walks over to Klaus.

“I don't have to pay special attention to you, Klaus,” Duncan seriously is about to think that Klaus doesn’t really have a lot of friends, "What do you want?" Klaus pokes Duncan in the shoulder, and the Quagmire fishes out a PSP from the pocket of his hoodie.

“Put it on the charger for your nephew!” The Baudelaire shouts and Duncan hands the woman the console mentally laughing at the fact that Klaus is her nephew.

"Fuck you! We aren’t family!" Kit calls over her shoulder and disappears under the counter.

Well, maybe he isn’t her nephew. 

"You're the best, Kit-Kat!” Klaus shouts and begins to walk away dragging Duncan with him.

They make their way across the dance floor again, Duncan is still holding onto Klaus. The speakers are torn up by a bouncing beat and the entire floor jumps with it. People squish closer. Duncan wants to smoke.

They slip down the stairs and the music stops as if it doesn't exist at all. There's another big guy next to the door, who's shamelessly checking Klaus out. The guy really tall, even taller than Klaus. 

“Man, you’re impressive, as always,” Klaus says with a smirk, and the door opens in front of him without further words. Duncan has never been to a casino.

It glistens with cheap luxury, and the bright light hurts your eyes. There is some unobtrusive music, but the ceiling seems to rattle from the top floor. The workers look fucked up and sleepy, lazily throwing their cards on the table. Klaus stopped at the door, looking around.

“If you see a crazy looking woman in a crazy looking outfit, yell” Klaus gives a cheeky smile and calls out to the waitress. "Two whiskies."

"Should i shout loudly?" Duncan immediately noticed the woman matching the description. 

“Have you learned to make jokes?” Duncan wants to smoke. "Where?"

“End table. On the right,” Klaus drags the Quagmire along again. If Duncan is not allowed to smoke, he will kill someone.

“Esme!” The woman twitched nervously and rolled her eyes. Duncan agreed with her, “Set up the cards!” 

"Fuck you.”

Is that the most popular greeting here?

"Come on, Esme! Give it to me,” The players, already sitting at the table, hesitated.

“Chips?” For some reason, Duncan heard a ‘fuck you’ in that question again. 

“Duncan, be a sweetheart, go and exchange for a hundred of chips,” Duncan takes the wallet and goes. He still wants to smoke and for Klaus to go fuck himself. It's probably contagious here.

When kenma returns with a single chip, the worker at the checkout window even looks at him with sadness, there are only three people left at the table. Along with Klaus of course. 

Duncan handed him the wallet and the chip. Esme closed her eyes wearily and shook her head. It seems like it’s not the first time she’s on a game with Klaus. He takes the chip and gives Duncan a sharp yank to his side. 

“Now do me a favor and sit on my lap," Klaus’ breath is hot in his ear, and it give him goosebumps. Duncan doesn't want to. Duncan doesn't want to, to the point where he thinks he might vomit. Memories are a suffocating haze that slips in his head, and his lungs run out of air. Duncan wants to smoke. Please. 

“Dunc, sit on my lap and put your arms around my neck, We need the money,” A stinging whisper rips his eardrums. The Quagmire is used to obeying. 

"Give me a cigarette." His whisper is lost somewhere on Klaus’ cheek as Duncan sits on his lap and wraps his arms around his neck.

“You're sitting on the pack," The Quagmire feels hot breath on his temple. It makes him feel sick and broken at the same time. 

He fumbles in the pockets of Klaus' jeans and finally pulls out a pack with two crumpled cigarettes, “Be careful, Dunc. You're hitting a nerve,” Duncan feels a chuckle on his skin. "Hand it out, Esme! I bet everything,” Klaus throws a chip on the green table and smiles. Duncan wants to hide from that smile. He fidgets a little more in the Baudelaires lap, getting comfortable, and finally lights up a cigarette. The smoke spreads almost like a life-giving veil over his lungs, and Duncan exhales blissfully.

Duncan doesn't keep track of the game, but Klaus somehow wins, taking the second lot in a row. It contains the fourth glass of whiskey and the third cigarette that Esme gave him. Duncan stopped at two glasses, because his eyes are already beginning to blur. He always had problems with alcohol. And he's got a hell of a stiff leg and still can't get comfortable. Klaus periodically hisses in his ear and nuzzles his temple.

"We're opening up!" Klaus casually throws the cards on the table and gives a cheeky smile, at which Esme rolls her eyes even more. It seems that her eyes will stay there a little longer, “Klaus takes the bank,” She says, clearly annoyed. 

“It's a good night, kids,” Klaus takes in the chips and gives one to Duncan. The Quagmire twirls it in his fingers and puts it in his pocket. "Stop fidgeting, you're distracting me. And i play much worse when I have a boner,” Klaus whispers into Duncans hair. 

Duncan has been feeling Klaus’ excitement for a long time. He leans his head on Klaus’ shoulder and hopes to fall asleep, so that his head will not be filled with a carousel of sickening thoughts that make him want to hide in corners. 

"Hey, Dunc, how did you end up at that gas station?" Klaus whispers as he takes the cards from under the table.

“This isn’t the time,” Duncan doesn't want to talk.

“I'm getting bored, Esme is sleepy today, so now is the time,” Klaus throws more chips on the table, raising the stakes.

Duncan doesn't want to talk about it. He’s used to listening.

“Everything went to hell when my foster father started raping me.” 

***

Duncan had been living in a foster home until he was 14, not a lot of kids liked him there and he would always sit around and play with one of the older kid’s gameboy. 

On his fourteenth birthday a married couple adopted him. They bought him his fist PSP which broke down after three years of good service. 

His new mom was a wonderful woman, she had long hair and kind eyes, the man was a great person too, overall Duncan loved his new parents, until the woman passed away. 

She died in a car accident when some drunk crashed into her on a high speed. 

Everything was fine, Duncan and his new father were really sad, nothing bad happened afterwards until the man came home drunk one night. 

Duncan got caught up with some kind of television program that night and he didn’t go to sleep, his ‘dad’ came back drunk and was so mad about Duncan staying up this late that he hit him. 

The Quagmire learnt a lesson, so he made sure that he was tucked in before his ‘father’ would come back. 

The man would just enter his room, sometimes kiss him goodnight, and everything that Duncan would think at that moment was “Please don’t find out that i’m awake.”

After a week of kissing good night, the first time happened. 

Duncan used to cry a lot and scream at first, but then he just gave up. 

On his sixteenth birthday, he left home. Just because he got sick of it. He took the dark blue school bag, folded a couple of clothes, and left. No notes or text messages. The phone was still on the table.

From some friends, he found out where you can quickly earn a normal amount of  
money to get out of the city. And this was his second major mistake. The first is that he didn't die with his foster mother. 

Prostitution didn't scare him, because what the fuck did he have to lose? That's when he met Count Olaf. 

Olaf was a great guy, but he was completely insane. He was also a pimp with his own brothel. Where Duncan got a job.

He thought that after working like this for a year, he would earn necessary amount and go somewhere far away, preferably to another country. But by the third year he had no dreams and no desires left. Except for one thing, to survive. Survive at all costs. Every time Duncan thought of suicide, the image of his foster mother with her eyes closed came to mind. And those lousy, vulgar roses that didn't suit her at all.

Things were going well, he even bought a new PSP, but still not enough to get out. Besides, Duncan knew that Olaf would not let him go so easily. Duncan can't count how many times he was beaten, how many times his nose was broken, how many times he broke his nails on the walls and bit his lips until they bled. All mixed up in one big carousel of unconsciousness, pain and dirty money. As dirty as he was, because he had been in so many hands that even the bills might have been disdainful of them.

Duncan had a lot of clients, he was popular because of his fucking good looks. Olaf had once said that he would make a good blond too, but he refused to that kind of thing. Two weeks later, he ran off with a client and never came back. Just as he had run away from his foster father. The man dumped him at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, and Duncan walked across the sweltering desert, still hoping not to die.

Although the inside was broken long ago.

***

"Olaf found me a couple of times, but I managed to escape. The last time I walked almost twenty kilometers across the desert, I came to the gas station where you picked me up,” By this time they were sitting on the hood of the pickup. Klaus was smoking what seemed to be his sixth cigarette in a row, keeping his eyes on Duncan. The Quagmire had been looking at his hands the whole time, clenching and unclenching them. 

That's where this painful and broken look came form. Klaus stared at the frozen Duncan for another minute, then leaned back against the glass. 

“I thought I had a bad childhood, but it turns out I had it pretty good,” Klaus looked up at the starless sky, “And until I was fifteen, I didn't have a bad life. Until I met Fernald and Fiona. They fucking ruined my entire high school. Okay, I got along with Fernald later, but with that bitch Fiona. Ew, fuck, just talking about it, and it's already pissing me off,” Klaus took another cigarette from the pack. 

“How old are you?" Klaus looks at Duncans hunched back and chuckles. The guy needed to be shaken up.

“How much will you give me?" Klaus asks with a smirk and strikes a pose. Duncan looks at him blankly. 

"Twenty seven?" Klaus’ facial expression falls. 

“Do I look that old?” Klaus laughs hoarsely and pulls Duncan by the hoodie to lie down, “I'm twenty four. I'll be twenty five soon. My best era,” Duncan lies down beside him, pulling the hood over her head. He doesn’t seem surprised that Klaus is younger than him. 

“What's next?" Duncan asks Klaus of the sky, unclear. 

“The night. At least four more hours,” The Baudelaire says, without taking his eyes off Duncans face, “We'll sleep somewhere and get out of here in the morning." Klaus takes a drag on his cigarette and lets the smoke out through his nose.

“I thought you were going to dump me somewhere." Duncans voice is lifeless. Klaus clicks his tongue and puts his hand on the top of the other mans head.

“No, I'm not an asshole,” Though Larry would argue, Klaus though. "But Fiona..."

“And you keep telling your stories about the Widdershins girl,” a familiar voice comes out of the fuzzy glow of red neon. Klaus curses three times to himself.

"Well, Sunny, you've ruined our romantic evening. Fuck you,” Greeting of the day or maybe even of Klaus’ life.

“We need to talk,” The woman gets closer to the pickup. He might be happy to chat with his sister, but no. She's going to start nagging again. “You need to come back home,” Talk about the fact that Klaus has to go home, “And finally accept your responsibilities,” And about the fact that Klaus has to be responsible.

Duncan turns his head to Klaus, who gives him a sly wink.

"Sunshine, where's your car?" Klaus rises from the pickup and jumps to the ground, miraculously flying through a puddle, “Are you still driving your magical Dodge? The little blue one?” Klaus moves closer to his sister, towering over her. 

“If you try to steal my car, I'll kill you." Sunny crunches her fingers.

“Nice threat,” A slow smile spreads across his lips, ”You wanna kill your own brother? Then wait in line." A sharp swing and a thud. Maybe a couple of bones snapped. The woman falls backward on the wet ground, “What were you asking about the music stick?" Klaus shoots his eyes at Duncan and sees his faint smile.

“But isn’t she like... Your sister?” Duncan asks, looking at Sunny on the ground. 

“Yeah, she’s still alive, we’re just taking her car.”

***

The morning light is sickly gray and it’s flashing through the heavy maroon curtains. The wallpaper on the walls is intact, you can't even see the dampness under the ceiling. Although the beds still creak ungodly, and the springs of the mattress rest uncomfortably against your back. But Duncan is happy. This was the cleanest and most well-kept motel he'd spent the night in over the past year. He even feels like he's had a hell of a good night's sleep: his head doesn't hurt, and his whole body feels rested and full of energy. It's almost two pm on the wall clock. They had been asleep for more than ten hours. Although Klaus seems to be still asleep.

He hadn't unmade the bed, but he had taken off only his shirt and boots, and had fallen back on the bedspread, his face buried in the pillow. So that's why he has this strange hairstyle. Klaus has broad shoulders and strong arms. Strong muscles appear under the skin. The back bends with an even spine and rests against the elastic band of boxers. The shoulder blades are covered with small moles, and near the right-a light thin scar. Sleeping Klaus almost does not cause alarm, it is like a large cat dozing, hiding its nose in its paws during cold weather.

The Baudelaire twitches his shoulders in his sleep, and Duncan twitches with him in fear. Perhaps it was worth to stop looking at someone else's body and going to wash up, but Duncan really liked to watch Klaus’ shoulders rise and fall in time with his breathing, the way he sometimes moved his head on the pillow, and to hear his even breathing. Klaus shrugged again, and the Quagmire guessed that he was waking up.

Quickly running barefoot across the cold floor, Duncan closed the bathroom door and turned on the sink, which, to his surprise, was warm. Rare in cheap motels. This means that you can even take a shower.

Duncan turned the handle to full power. The shower wheezed a couple of times and spat out yellowish water, but after a couple more spits, the water ran clear. He put his back and shoulders under the hot water, exhaling almost blissfully. The Quagmire hadn't seen a proper shower in almost a week. The dust that had almost settled into his skin slid off his body in dirty lines, flooding the ceramic shower with gray water. He threw back his head and began to rub his face mercilessly, as if he were going to strip off his skin to wash away all the dirt under it. For some reason, he didn't want to be dirty around Klaus. Water dripped from his hair, soaked in dust and sand, and inside Duncan felt an indescribable lightness, as if the water from this old shower really cleansed his corrupt body from all the nasty and sticky touches of other hands. Although he had never been able to get rid of this sickening feeling before.

Snatching a clean towel from the shelf, Duncan quickly wiped his damp hair and collected the drops from his skin with scratchy fibers. The day started well. When the man came out of the bathroom with a wet towel on his shoulders, Klaus was already sitting on the edge of the bed, yawning widely and scratching his tousled hair. His gaze ran over Duncans naked body, causing his breathing to hitch. He yanked towel to cover himself. Klaus just grinned and got up from the bed, coming closer.

“Don’t be a tease, Duncan,” Klaus passed by, touching the Quagmires skin only with a cold breeze, but his fingers tightened on the towel, and goose bumps seemed to be in his throat. 

The door slammed, and Duncan quickly darted to his things, pulling on a sweatshirt and shorts. His body was studied by completely different looks, lustful and greedy, but they always made him sick and wanted to pull the blanket up to the roots of his hair, but after Klaus’ attentive gaze, Duncan for the first time wanted to be touched.

***

They were driving calmly down the road, none of them sure where heading. Duncan threw his exposed legs onto the glove compartment and Klaus was shooting glares at them for the past hour, it was getting uncomfortable in his jeans. 

“Duncan, put your legs away form my sight or i will drive directly into a tree,” Klaus said through gritted teeth. 

A sudden Idea sparked in the Quagmires mouth. He put his legs down, turned his boys to Klaus and leaned in. 

"Try not to kill us," Duncan whispers from somewhere below, unbuttoning the belt on Klaus’ jeans. The sharp sound of the zip hit his ears. Klaus swallows hard and lets out a hitched breath.

"You're the only one trying to kill us," The Baudelaire says, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “I'd be an idiot to ask what you're doing, but..” he clenches his teeth tighter and groans as he sinks into Duncans mouth.

The tongue slides along the entire length, licking every inch. Klaus almost lets go of the steering wheel when he touches Duncans throat. Klaus gives up and releases one hand from the steering wheel, running his fingers through the other mans hair and twisting it into a fist. He reflexively pushes forward with his hips, and Duncan takes him completely, wrapping his lips more tightly around him. 

Klaus pulls over to the side of the road and brakes smoothly, without cutting off the humming engine. Duncan wraps his mouth on the full length, and Klaus actively moves his hips forward, throwing his head back. The hand switches from hair to the back. Duncan moans softly. The vibration of his moan bounces off his throat and is transmitted by an electric discharge to Klaus. He abruptly grabs Duncan by the hair and drives deeper into his throat, coming with a long moan.

The world floats before his eyes and is torn to pieces by bright colors like ecstasy. Blood circulates through his veins at the speed of light and beats in his temples with a deafening roar. Klaus almost flows down the seat, closing his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated, i worked very hard on this 
> 
> This fic is a little break from all the fluffy stuff i’ve been writing, not a lot of people would like this ‘angsty’ stuff but who knows, i’m pretty satisfied with it. 
> 
> OMG 10K WORDS I DID NOT EXPECT OOOO  
> I sure had a time writing this. Three sleepless nights and this is how it turned out. I LEAVE YALL WITH AN OPEN ENDING. Sorry mom for the smut. Uh what else, I am very tired it’s 5 AM right now, so yeah.....
> 
> Goodnight? Good morning? Have a good day or whateva  
> love u 
> 
> M<3


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